The Forest Raised a Christmas Tree Affair
by Svetlanacat
Summary: Written for the Down the Chimney Challenge 2012 for Spikesgirl. Memories, cherished Christmas ornaments, cats... I borrowed Spikesgirl's Abba/Foothills universe. Some slash implied, so...


The man couldn't help shivering and he scolded himself for choosing such unsuitable clothing ... and shoes. "_Climatically comfortable country..._" He sneered bitterly. " _Wonderful and varied landscapes, green steppes stretching out to the horizon, suddenly alternating with huge forests, mountains, lakes..._"

Bullshit.

He was freezing, wending his way through endless powder snow which smoothed everything around him.  
White. White snow and black sky.

Flakes materializing from nowhere and falling lazily.

Silence. Oppressive silence.

He stopped and rubbed his hands. Just his luck... How could he really have forgotten his gloves? His fingers would be soon frostbitten.

Where was he?

"_Climatically comfortable country._." Words written... Landscape... Not a real one, though. Images... A book? A file? He didn't remember.

What the hell was he doing there?

Where was he?

Why?

He kept moving, step by step, to no purpose.

Suddenly - natural instinct? Practice? - he threw himself down, sinking into the snow, listening carefully. Silence wasn't oppressive any longer. Actually, he heard... Music. Soothing, but incongruous music. He was in the middle of nowhere, alone, and a melody came from out of the blue... well... the white... There was... Piano. Piano and... He hesitated. Something familiar though exotic. Balalaika.

And voices. At the moment, he could hear singing voices, louder and louder. It wasn't English. It was... - he felt puzzled - familiar, though unexpected. It sounded... Russian. Russian? He realized that he distinguished words... lines...

_В лесу родилась елочка,_

_В лесу она росла._

_Зимой и летом стройная,_

_Зеленая была._

_Метель ей пела песенку:_

_"Спи, елочка, бай-бай!"_

_Мороз снежком укутывал:_

_"Смотри, не замерзай!"_

_**The forest raised a Christmas tree,**_

'_**Twas silent and serene**_

_**In winter and in summer**_

_**It was slender and so green.**_

_**The wind sang it a lullaby:**_

_**Sleep Christmas tree, sleep tight!**_

_**The snow was making clothes for it:**_

_**It was a pretty sight!**_

A Christmas song? Something changed around him. The black and white ballet turned into a golden mist. A flashlight? People were everywhere, next to him, walking and singing... He craned cautiously his neck out of the snow and gasped. A few seconds – minutes? - before, he couldn't see anything but snow stripes. At the moment, there were lights, the contour of a house, a wooden house with a funny roof, a thatched one.

It was impossibly closer and closer.

He realized that he wasn't crouching in the snow any longer. He stood next to a frosty window, screwing up his eyes at the dazzling light. Delicious scents drifted in the icy air, cinnamon, gingerbread...

_Трусишка зайка серенький_

_Под ёлочкой скакал._

_Порою волк, сердитый волк,_

_Рысцою пробегал._

_**A trembling bunny put himself**_

_**Beneath its arms so wide;**_

_**The hungry wolf just passed him by -**_

_**A lovely place to hide!**_

A young woman was sitting at a piano, her long blond braid swaying to the rhythm of the song and a tall man was playing balalaika next to her. Napoleon Solo held out a tentative hand and brushed away the frost from the pane. A babushka was cradling a sleepy baby on her lap. And... - Napoleon left his hand on the frame, puzzled. There was a little boy, with soft blond hair, incredibly blue eyes, leaning dreamily against the instrument. He wasn't singing. He was gazing at something shiny on the piano. It looked like... figurines, glass baubles.

Napoleon stepped forward, realizing again that he wasn't outside any longer. How, when did he enter the house? He didn't know. Strangely none of the people paid any attention to him. Strangely, their faces were slightly blurred, except for the little boy's.

The kid tilted his head, unconsciously frowning as he concentrated on the two glass figurines. A black cat jumped up on the piano and lay on it, apparently enjoying the vibration, but the boy carefully moved the baubles closer.

Napoleon identified the figurines. Ther were an old man, with a white beard, kind of aSanta with amazing patterns on his coat and a young girl, wearing white and blue with a delicate crown. Yes, he knew them. Someone had told him about ... Ded Moroz and Snegoruchka... Grandfather Frost and his daughter the Snow Maiden. Amazing. On the spur of the moment, he held out his hand towards Snegoruchka but froze. His eyes met inquiring blue ones. The boy was looking at him, neither afraid, nor surprised, the left corner of his lips curled in a ghost of a smile. A small hand grabbed his wrist, amazingly strong, amazingly warm.

"Napoleon?"

He started at the voice and blinked at the sight. Similar soft blond hair – slightly darker, similar incredibly blue eyes... similar smile, similarly tilting his head... A large, powerful hand pulled him up.

"What were you doing here, Napoleon? I thought you'd be already asleep in our bed..."

Napoleon peeped around. He was in their living room barely lit by the embers in the fireplace. He turned to his friend who was considering him with a mix of amusement and uncertainty. "I was reading, waiting for you to finish..." He smiled, drew the other man in a tight embrace while kicking away the book he was reading under the couch.

The two cats raised their head, simultaneously, observing the bodies who lay entwined on the bed. Then, they exchanged a knowing look. Protesting for a special midnight treat would be no use.

* * *

Napoleon hung up and leaned against the back of his chair with a satisfied smile. _Well done,_ _Napoleon_, he thought. He would get them on time.

"You look like the cat who ate the canary, Mr S... You pulled it off with a wine-grower?"

He grinned at the young man and nodded, putting the book in the drawer.

* * *

First, it had been kind of a light talk after Thanksgiving, about holiday traditions. Then, someone has told about Christmas and they had found themselves exchanging childhood memories.

_Illya was settled cozily in his armchair, blending in with the festive atmosphere without taking any part of it._

_They shared... all, since so many years. Napoleon knew about this man more than anyone but "childhood memories" were still mostly Illya's private domain, though he trusted some bits and pieces to his lover._

_Suddenly, Rocky turned to the blond man. "And what about you, Chef? Had you Christmas trees, in Russia?"_

_Napoleon held his breath for a split second but against all the odds, Illya smiled, stretched his hands and bent forward. Oh, this expression... back to the polymath agent Kuryakin, Napoleon thought. The Russian was about to tell his friends about the date, the mix of traditional and Soviet customs, yolka..._

_Which he did, before a fascinated audience. _

"_...In 1937, they established that children would have a New Year celebration with beautifully decorated trees. They'd get gifts from Ded Moroz – Grandfather Frost and his daughter Snegoruchka – Snow Maiden..." He paused, apparently lost in thought. "My babushka offered me two wonderful glass figurines..." He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. " Baubles... Ded Moroz and Snegoruchka... I cherished them..." The smile faded and no one asked about it._

Napoleon had already made a decision. He would have to work to very tight deadlines, but he would make it.

Eventually, it hadn't been so difficult.

* * *

"What is this?" A bewildered Russian was standing at the entrance, considering the mess. Napoleon was on all fours, offering a very interesting sight as all Illya could see was his beautiful butt. Fir tree branches had apparently engulfed half of his lover. The cats stood next to the fireplace, considering the scene with obvious amusement. A muffled voice cursed and Napoleon crawled backwards.

"Nice place for our Christmas tree? What do you think?" With his tousled hair, his cable-knit sweater covered with pine needles and his delighted face, he was irresistible. "I thought that we could have our own Christmas tree, this year..." He pointed at a huge cardboard box. "I found old decorations... Tinsels, baubles..."

Illya sighed comically. This... This, he couldn't fight...

"And..." Napoleon ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to keep them tidy. His eyes twinkled and he grinned at his friend - _A devastating smile_, Illya thought, "Perhaps you could bake some cookies? For Santa?"

Two pairs of ears pricked up. The cats exchanged a look, nodding imperceptibly at each other and trotted towards the kitchen.

* * *

Napoleon folded his arms with contentment. Sparkling Christmas tree, crackling of flames in the fireplace, candles, Christmas stockings, hanging mistletoe... Illya would come soon, exhausted, drained... But champagne was ready and Napoleon had a plan. The cats were staring at the door in their Bastet posture. Suddenly, the tails snaked, soft mewing and cooing purring gave a warm welcome to the comer.

"Napoleon, I'm..."

"Shhh..." He drew his lover to himself, just underneath the mistletoe bunch and kissed the delightfully gingerbread flavored blond. "I wish you... us... the happiest Christmas... the merriest life..."

Miraculously, two champagne glasses appeared. Illya smiled.

"Oh, my stubborn, resourceful and ..." The blue eyes sparkled, "adorable friend... I wish you... us... the same..." And they kissed again.

"Now, let's go to bed... " Napoleon bit his lips, "We wouldn't worry Santa, would we?"

The Russian sighed, shaking his head in feigned dismay.

"And of course, cookies are on the table?"

Napoleon nodded, "Yes. And a glass of milk..."

"You should leave a note about champagne in the fridge..."

As his friend was going upstairs, Napoleon turned to the cats. "Now, let's be clear, guys." He pointing at the Christmas tree. "Don't even think about it. Seriously! No climbing, no chasing!" He stared at the two innocent looking creatures. "Get it?"

The cats shrugged their shoulders, starting to wash and lick each other, ignoring the offending human.

* * *

"Illya? Get up! It's Christmas morning..."

The blond muttered something.

"Illya? Let's go check the Christmas stockings!"

Something was muttered again, about someone being five years old, but eventually the Russian sat straight and considered his obviously self-satisfied friend. "Napoleon, you know..."

"Shh... come on."

"But usually..." Illya gave up and followed his lover downstairs. Usually, they gave each other their gifts on the New Year's Day, between Napoleon's Christmas Day and Illya's one...

Napoleon stood next to the fireplace. "I think that Santa left something for you..."

"But... Napoleon, I didn't..."

"Neither did I. This is all Santa! Look..." He pointed at the table, the empty plate, and the glass, fallen over the table. "He liked your cookies..." He peeped at the two felines, quietly sitting on the couch, "and the milk..."

The cats rolled their eyes in a very expressive pantomime. "_You talked about the tree. You didn't say anything about the cookies and milk!" _

He took down the stocking and held it out to his friend. "Be careful... I think that it's fragile..."

The Russian dropped the stocking and unwrapped the gift, meticulously. Ribbon, paper, tape... He was about to open the cardboard box. "Napoleon... what...?"

Napoleon pointed his chin at the box. There were two small things, cautiously wrapped in tissue-paper. Illya's face, as he was moving aside the layers of paper, was... a poem. First, he was frowning, concentrating himself on his task. Suddenly, his lips parted in a mute "Oh!", his eyes widened as he saw two shiny glass figurines, two glass baubles, an old man, with a white beard, kind of Santa with amazing patterns on his coat and a young girl, white and blue with a delicate crown... He tilted his head, enthralled, filled with wonder. He was... four years old...

"Napoleon... This... this is..." He stopped, wordless.

"Of course, those are probably not alike the ones your babushka gave you... But they are real glass baubles from Rus..."

"They are... Oh, Napoleon... They are exactly alike. How did you...?" He put Ded Moroz and Snegoruchka on the table and took his friend in a tight embrace. "This... is a wonderful Christmas gift!"

They kissed for a long time. Then, Illya took a step back back a slightly sad smile. 'I'm sorry, Napoleon, I don't have any gift for you today and..."

Napoleon bit his lips, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, you have. Every day, every minute of my life, you are my Christmas gift..." He picked up the figurines, put them out of reach of the cats' paws and grabbed his friend's arm. "And I think that it's now time for me to enjoy it..."

As the two laughing silhouettes disappeared upstairs, the cats trotted towards the kitchen. There were some cookies left...


End file.
